A Strange Meeting
by hiei1317
Summary: This is a slash story, rated R for more than just the slash, but mostly for the slash. Please read it anyways. It's a story, based on the movie, about what would happen if Philippe was thrown into the mess. please r and r


A/n: Erik/Philippe. Pretend that this happened in the movie, and that it happened before the Masquerade. Movie setting, movie story line, movie Erik, Leroux Philippe.

Disclaimer: I own no one in this story:'(

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He walks so slowly, and yet the gait is so familiar. This intruder in _my_ territory moving so seemingly familiar.

I watch as this man moves down the corridor: lost, confused, and scared.

I follow silently behind him. I'm so close I can see the bumps that rise on his skin from the cold, and I can hear his rapid breathing. The man is scared.

I quickly break off, taking another passage, gaining a lead on the man, and then cutting back into the main passage.

Once there I look into the darkness, not yet able to see the man, but hearing his breath, and I laugh: a cold, bone-chilling sound.

I hear his footfall stop and in a shaky voice he replies, "Wh- who's there?"

"Why, I would expect you to know!" I yell back, "Invading my private rooms and not knowing who I am. I am the Opera Ghost, good sir."

His breathing halts, faltering, "So you're the one my brother spoke of!"

"Brother, good man?" maybe this will explain the similarity, a sibling!

"Yes, I'm sure you know him, for you two have met," there's a pause, "He is Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny."

The words halt me and I hear an animal like growl escape from deep in my throat. He hears the noise too and his footsteps move slightly away.

I slam my fist into the wall, triggering a mechanism not far from here, closing his only way out. I hear him yelp, and then yell in pain.

I walk slowly so that I can see him and I notice that the gate that came down has sliced the Comte in the arm, a similar wound to the one his brother received from me.

I move so that I am still in the shadows, but so very close again. He feels the movement around him and looks in my general direction.

"Why don't you move where I can see you, you coward!" he spits at me.

I laugh again, "Me? A coward?" I move menacingly toward him, into the light of the candles that line the hall, "Hardly."

He looks up at me in fear and I grin at the site, a grin that shows no joy, "Monsieur, what is your name?"

"Philippe," he stands up, but the pain in his arm forces him to lean against the fence. I look to his feet to see a pool of blood has formed.

"Well, Philippe, it seems the only way out of here for you is to come into my lair. The only problem with that is, is that I don't let anyone down there, not without them earning it," I smirk.

"And how do you earn the privilege?" he's starting to play along with my game, a trait that could have easily saved his brother much trouble.

"Well, that's for me to know, and for you to figure out," I turn and disappear into the shadows once more, straying only as far as I need to.

I watch as he falters, "Monsieur?"

Realizing that I am not going to answer he slowly starts to make his way down the corridor. I watch as he struggles, and I move with him, moving only as far ahead as I need to. His arm must be causing him a lot of pain, for with every step he holds his head and pauses, dizzy.

Finally he stops, taking a long break. I stop, squatting to the ground to watch him as he looks in my direction. I know he can not see me, but I want to be safe, so I cover my white mask with the black of my cloak. Just then he starts to quiver and his legs give out. I watch as he falls hard onto his knees and I hear the sickening impact as the bone slams the cold stone. I watch as he falls forward and I can hear his breath even out. He has passed out.

I move to walk away, but something stops me. He's still bleeding.

I would gladly leave him there, but without tending the wound could very well be the death of him. While I would injure without thinking I like to leave killing for when I have a cause, and simply killing this man for revenge on his brother is no reason to take his life.

I move to his side and carefully pick him up, gently carrying him down to my home. I feel his blood soaking into my shirt and I can tell he does not have much time.

I hurry my pace and find myself back home in a matter of seconds.

Quickly and carefully I lay him down on the bed. I remove his bloodied suit, and then I remove his undershirt. I tear the undershirt into strips and quickly bandage the wound, knowing he won't mind, since the blood any ways ruined the shirt.

Once my task is complete I simply a pull up a chair by the bed and wait.

Philippe POV 

I open my eyes, not expecting such a feat after the pain that I passed out to. I try to move my arm, but I find it too painful.

Then I feel a hand on my wrist and I quickly scramble to sit up, but in the process I lean on my injured left arm and I cry out.

"Please, Monsieur, if the wound reopens you'll have little chance of revival, you have lost a fair amount of blood," I look to see the Phantom's face.

"What do you care?" I ask hotly.

"I don't," he responds coldly.

"Then why warn me?" I shoot back.

He looks away, as if thinking, then back at me, "I would think that you would care for your life."

"Of course I do," but I can not look into his eyes as I say it.

"Are you sure you can say that truthfully, Monsieur?" he reads my thoughts.

"Yes," I try to stay defiant, but I still can't look into his eyes.

He laughs, a cold, bone chilling sound; "It seems you would rather stay down in my damned home then go back there."

"Ha!" I look around the place and see that it is not as bad as he makes it seem. There are beautiful pieces of artwork all around, and wonderful pieces of furniture.

"I am right, Monsieur, I can tell, and it's in your voice," he responds dry.

I don't respond and he moves a little closer, moving from a chair near me to on the bed next to me.

I look at him and he looks back with his deep eyes. They are beautiful eyes, ones that you can easily get lost in. I fear that I find myself attracted to them.

"It's impolite to stare," he comments, turning away.

"I can't help it, you're eyes are beautiful," I respond truthfully.

"You're lying," he tries to convince himself.

"No, I'm not," I look back at his eyes.

Then I seem to notice the mask he wears for the first time, though I don't know why I didn't notice it earlier, "Why do you wear this?" I reach out and gently run my fingers down the outside and I feel him draw back.

"It hides a monster," his voice is low.

"It can't be that bad," I quickly pull it off of his face. He jumps back, but not before I can see him. I don't know how to respond. He was right, it is a monster, a monster with twisted flesh and grotesque features.

"Damn it! Damn you! Why the Hell did you have to do that?" he screams at me, but I find no words.

My voice seems dead, but I find the strength, move toward him, and I gently pry away his hand, which seems to have lost what strength it had, and I move my hand down his deformed cheek, gently tracing the marred features. He flinches in my touch and I see his eyes well up with tears.

"Monsieur," I murmur, a sad tone to my voice.

A tear strays down his cheek and I catch it with my finger, then I move in slowly and gently catch his lips in a small kiss.

Something rushes through me and I like the sensation.

He moves away a little when I break the kiss, but he doesn't move far, just enough so that he has warning if I try that again.

"Monsieur, what do you think you are doing?" it's not his normal growl, instead it's more smooth and accepting.

I shrug, unable to find my voice.

He stands up and moves away, "Surely, you mean to mock me."

"Never," I finally manage to choke out past the strangling lump in my throat.

"Ha! First you come here and pretend like you don't know where you are and now this!" he actually doesn't seem so mad to me, no matter how hard he tries.

"Please, Monsieur, I meant no harm," I try to answer him, standing up, finding it hard since I'm still lightheaded from blood loss. I sit back down, defeated, like a dog that has lost a fight, tucking it's tail between its legs.

He walks over to me, standing above me, glowering at me, "Go, now!" He points to a ledge that leads to a tunnel. "The path way is open by now and you can get out. It will seem a lot longer than it really is. Just leave me alone."

The last part seemed more a plea then a demand, "Is that what you want?"

"Yes," he whispers.

I know he's lying, I just need to prove it.

"Then you won't mind if I do one last thing before I leave," with this I jump up and pin him to the wall, catching his lips in a hard kiss.

He doesn't fight, and instead I find that he is kissing me back, something I never would have guessed would happen. The kiss gets deeper and I can feel him spin me around, so that I am now the one that is pinned. He runs his tongue over my lips, and I find a moan escapes from my throat.

I feel my lips open and his tongue enters my mouth, slamming into mine and searching my mouth possessively. I feel dizzy again, this time with ecstasy, but also with pain and as my legs start to give out I feel him catch me, holding me in place.

He finally breaks the kiss, leaving us both gasping for air, but it doesn't take long for him to move his face to my neck, kissing me there as well.

He doesn't pull away, but moves me slowly toward the bed again, and finally settles us back onto the bed. He breaks away from my neck and then looks at me almost apologetically.

I move my hand to rest on his marred cheek and he leans into the touch, after a quick twitch at the sudden, and noticeably rare, contact.

"What kind of life have you known?" I find myself mumbling towards him and he turns away.

I quickly sit up and move to his side on the bed still, and as I place my hand on his shoulder he answers, "You don't want to know."

I move my other hand to rest on his other shoulder and I start to massage him. His muscles relax in my touch, but he doesn't answer me.

I then start to talk instead, "Monsieur, I have just realized that I do not know your name."

He laughs, "I have no name."

"Surely your mother gave you one," I move in closer and massage a little harder.

He laughs a sad laugh; "My mother could not look me in the face, let alone come up with a name for such a child, a "Devil's Child". I grew up knowing no name for myself."

"Well, surely you have a title other than the Opera Ghost," I answer.

"Of course," he smiles, "The Phantom!"

I sigh, "Other than that."

The smile disappears from his lips; "Somewhere along the line I earned the name Erik."

I repeat the name, "Erik. That's a wonderful name for you, there's something about it that seems to fit you well."

He looks at me; "You truly are not normal, are you?"

I don't know whether he meant that as an insult or a compliment, but either way I have no answer.

He doesn't wait for one, "You come down here, claim not to know where you are or who I am. Then you get injured and nearly die from blood loss, only to wake up and instantly you seem to have an obsession with me. You are truly a rare case, though the trait seems to run in the family."

"Monsieur… Erik… I take that as an insult!" I stop massaging his shoulders and looks at him with a hurt expression.

He smiles at me, "If I were talking to your brother it would have been an insult, but not when I'm talking to you."

I can't need to respond to this, except to catch his lips in another kiss.

When we break he is smiling, "I prove my point."

A heavy silence falls over the room and I decide to take the chance to study Erik from a closer view. He seems to be very handsome for the age he must be, which is probably a little older than me. His left half of his face is extraordinarily handsome, and the right side only highlights the left side more. His hair is messy; but then again there is no real reason for him to stay presentable down here. It has a tinge of gray, but not a lot. Then there's the rest of him, muscular and thin, but not too thin.

He seems to be studying me as well, and when our eyes meet I see the beauty that I spoke of previously all over again. He looks away, as if afraid to make eye contact.

I place my fingers gently under his chin and move his face so I can see his eyes again. He looks deeply into mine and I do the same with his. We stare until he finally seems unable to take more and catches my lips in our third kiss, pushing me so that my back is now straight out on the bed. I feel his legs straddle my hips. Inside his pants I can feel his hardness, and the feeling causes my own arousal. He can feel this and we both sort of blush, unable to look at each other and yearning for the other's touch.

He starts to undo my shirt, slowly, and I love the feel of his hands on my bare chest when he finishes. I shrug off the shirt and I can already feel his hands start to explore me, moving to every inch they can reach. He then does the same with his lips, kissing me, running his tongue along my skin, tasting me.

I move my hands so that they don't interfere with what he is doing, but so that I can start to take off his shirt. The first one opens with ease, as does his undershirt and he pauses his exploration to quickly shrug off his shirts. I then do my own exploration, but when I look down after feeling a sudden bump along his skin I see his chest and back a marred with whip marks.

"Erik," I breathe.

He doesn't want to answer my little plea, I can tell, but he does so any ways, "When I was a little older my mother almost practically threw me into the streets. I ran off, and a few days later I was picked up by a traveling circus of gypsies. They took me in as an attraction and treated me like an animal with the name "The Devil's Child". They whipped me often, even if I would do nothing wrong, simply to see another person suffer more than them. Eventually a little girl from the ballet rats back then finally saved me, one fateful day."

His voice is so sad and a few stray tears find their ways down his cheeks to drip softly onto my exposed stomach. I pull his weight onto me, not minding when he collapses. His body wracks with sobs as I hold him tight to me, his face buried in my shoulder.

"No man should ever be put through something like that, no one," I resolve, barely audible.

"I learned fast that humanity is never fair, especially to their own kind," he whispers into my shoulder.

"None of them?" I ask into his hair.

"I have only been shown compassion twice now," he answers, as if rethinking his words.

"By whom, other than me?" he pulls his face away from my shoulder, his eyes red rimmed but dry.

"Madame Giry, the little girl who rescued me from the gypsies," he smiles a half smile.

I bring his lips to my own and I feel him aroused again.

As he starts to pant with the sudden hormone rush he breathes out, "I fear much more of this and I will be unable to stop."

I grin wickedly, "Who said I would want you to?"

He kisses me and quickly makes it his chore to undo my pants, holding his weight off of me with one arm and untying the knot in my pants with the other. Successfully undoing my restraint he quickly sheds me of them, releasing my aching flesh.

He quickly them removes his own, faster and more effectively then I ever could have.

He lowers his hips to quickly brush over mine, causing me to whimper at the sudden contact. He lowers one hand to slowly find it's way down my stomach, past my hips, and to me, finally grabbing hold. I cry out his name and he moves his hand against me, my muscles moving against his hand.

He then lowers his hips to mine, moving his hand out of the way; "I don't want to hurt you Philippe."

"You don't have to worry about me," I whisper back.

He positions himself just right and whispers, "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Erik, what I want is you!" I answer.

He then thrusts inside me. Pain hits me hard, more than I would have thought possible from such a simple task. A few tears unconsciously leave my eyes. He swoops down, placing kisses gently on my forehead, still inside me, and I find it hurts much worse for him to stay still.

"Please, Erik, I'm alright, I just need you now!" he listens to my command and slowly starts to rhythmically move inside me.

I feel the beat of his thrusts pulsing through me and every moment that he is outside me I yearn for him to be back inside. He continues this, moving faster and faster.

When we come, both at the same time, we cry out the others name, and then I feel his weight once again collapse on top of me.

I hold him to me, gently stroking his hair, and I can feel all of his muscles shaking with fatigue. He has just enough strength to roll off to my side and then I move so that his head is resting on my shoulder.

I find the movement, even though it is barely an inch that I move, quite painful.

He realizes this and whispers onto my skin, "I'm sorry that I hurt you."

I feel his warm breath on my skin catch in the sadness of my pain, and I smile a little, "It's a good pain."

I start to run my fingers through his hair again, and he moves closer to me, his warmth transferring to my shaking body.

His sweat mingles with mine as I whisper, "I love you."

He moves as close as possible without being on top of me again and whispers back, "And I you, Philippe."

The silent night that surrounds us calls for my rest, and with my new lover in my arms I slowly feel myself loose my battle with consciousness, falling into the most peaceful and rewarding sleep of my life.

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A/n: please review!


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